Real World
by obsessed1
Summary: What if it was Sheppard? Shep whump of sorts.


_A/N Okay, so I was deeply dissatisfied with the Real World, (Apologies to Torri - she's a great actress,) but I felt it was lacking something. _

_This is an AU Real World_

_Wrote it in one go so all mistakes are mine._

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Sheppard awoke on the floor of an unfamiliar room. He blinked several times to adjust to the bright light burning his retinas. He got up onto his knees and the combination of moving too quickly and being suddenly upright made his stomach knot and roll. He swallowed against the rising bile in his throat and chanced a look up to scan the room. White washed walls, a bed in the corner, and a window with light streaking in through the blinds. It definitely wasn't his room and even in his addled brains state he could hear the faint noise of traffic outside the window. He was on Earth.

He dropped his head and closed his eyes, willing the feeling of lethargy and his pervasive headache to subside. He re-opened his eyes in a panic and promptly emptied his stomach contents onto the floor beside him. He dry heaved repeatedly until he heard a door open, footsteps and then hands were grabbing him by the arms and hauling him up and over to the bed.

"You're going to be okay," a woman's voice reassured him.

He felt drugged, his vision swimming in and out of focus as he tried to sit up. Hands were pressing him down, pushing him to lie down as an unfamiliar voice spoke to him.

"Beckett?" he asked as he felt his stomach cramp in response to its previous abuse.

The voices drifted over him, fading and re-emerging at a volume that hurt his ears_, "He thinks I'm him again."_

"_Should we sedate him?"_

"_No, it's just a reaction to the medication."_

"_He just won't stop fighting."_ Somebody brushed a strand of his hair off his perspiring forehead.

"Elizabeth?" he croaked out.

"_He's delusional again."_

"What's going on?" Sheppard asked staring up at a smartly dressed man. His voice sounded weak and feeble even to his own ears. His brain couldn't quite connect to reality; he was struggling to comprehend his current situation.

"My name is Doctor Adam Fletcher." The man spoke as if Sheppard should know who he was already.

Sheppard looked at him, no element of recognition in his expression, and looked to the woman stood beside him. He could see that she was holding a capped syringe.

"Why am I here?" Sheppard asked from the bed, "Where's my team?" He scrubbed a hand through his dark hair and switched his glance between the two.

Doctor Fletcher looked over at his nurse, gave her a curt nod and she left the room, closing the door and Sheppard's escape route in the process.

"Where do you _believe_ you are?"

Sheppard looked around the room, "I _was_ on Atlantis," he said sitting up in the bed slowly and licking his lips to attain moisture to soothe his raw throat.

"No," said Doctor Fletcher.

"No," repeated Sheppard thickly, "Look, what happened?" The continual pitching and swaying of the room was making his stomach roll again. He felt distinctly unwell.

"I know you believe you left here through a 'wormhole'. You never left Earth. You have been in this room for six months."

Sheppard couldn't restrain the anger in his voice, "That's ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous is you getting out of bed." Said Fletcher. "The medication we have you on is strong. We told you it would make you weak."

Sheppard had to admit that he felt strange. Everything was moving behind the Doctor and he screwed up his eyes to abate his continuing nausea.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Sheppard shook his head and instantly regretted the motion.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Like I just told you. I was having breakfast on Atlantis. I can even tell you what I ate if you'd like?" He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head down on his knees. He realised that he was wearing white scrubs.

"I'm afraid that there is no Atlantis."

Sheppard laughed weakly, "Look, I can assure you that there is. Because unless I dreamt it up, its real."

The Doctor was silent.

"I didn't dream it up."

"You created Atlantis as a mental retreat. You've not been willing to deal with what happened to you in Afghanistan and since then you have been living in a world of your own creation."

"You're the one that's crazy." Sheppard idly rubbed at his stomach as he felt nausea grip him.

"John, you were responsible for losing two men on a mission in Afghanistan."

Sheppard remembered the event, only he had been reprimanded and sent to the Antarctic. The memory resurfaced and began to replay in full Technicolor.

"You couldn't forgive yourself for leaving two men behind. You suffered a breakdown and retreated into yourself."

"I _went_ to Antarctic," said Sheppard beginning to get angry. He grabbed the sheets in his fists and tried to restrain his emotions.

"No," said the Doctor, "You didn't."

"I did," Sheppard argued.

"You were seeing a counsellor after the event-" said Doctor Fletcher clasping his hands together and watching Sheppard's reaction.

Sheppard swallowed convulsively. He _had_ seen a counsellor. He'd been overwhelmed by guilt and his superiors had worried that he could lose grip on the reality of the situation. They were acceptable losses and he had to accept that.

Sheppard felt his nausea increase. Doubt was starting to creep into his already tired mind as he tried to remember his sessions with the Doctor. It was shortly after that that he was reassigned and sent to the Antarctic.

He met Doctor Fletchers eyes and a sudden dread began to grip him.

Maybe he had never gone to the Antarctic or Atlantis. Perhaps he had snapped in one of those sessions and he couldn't remember. He could have blocked it out and only now he was resurfacing to reality.

Atlantis did seem ridiculous.

"Do you remember?"

He couldn't be insane. The emotions he associated with Atlantis were all too real and tangible. "No, I…I went to Atlantis." His words sounded so weak. "Why would I create Atlantis?" he asked quietly, "ATA genes? Wormholes to another galaxy? the wraith? It doesn't make sense. I'm not that imaginative."

"You called the Doctors here wraiths when you first arrived. Said talking to them sucked the life out of you," said Fletcher.

"No," said Sheppard shaking his head as he felt some of his strength returning, "I know these people. Beckett? Elizabeth? Rodney?"

"It's not uncommon for patients to create intricate relationships and complex characters within their delusions."

"You're lying."

"We have a Doctor Beckett here. As for the other names…I'm not so sure where you got them from." Doctor Fletcher continued, "I know this is all confusing but you have to believe me when I say that _this_ is the real world."

"I don't believe it. I'm _not_ crazy."

"Atlantis doesn't exist John and until you realise that we can't help you."

"I want you to find an Elizabeth Weir. She's a diplomat and-"

"We already looked for her and could find no record. Don't you remember?"

Sheppard shook his head, "No. I don't. It's hard to think with this crap in my system."

"You were violent yesterday. Used your soldier training on one of the Doctors and broke his arm."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes, his resolve fading, "This isn't real."

Doctor Fletcher stood up, "You should get some rest. I'll bring you your medication later with a hot meal."

He was exhausted, his grip on this reality becoming tenuous and confusing. "I'm not taking any of your damn medication."

"These delusions will only get worse John." His voice was annoyingly calm and even.

"Lt _Colonel!_," Sheppard snapped, "I'm a Lt Colonel."

"You're not even a Major now," said the Doctor as he approached the door, "Rest."

Sheppard found untapped strength and managed to get up and off his bed in one fluid motion. He ran over to the Doctor and lashed out. His fist connected with the Doctor's chin and as his head rocked back he reached for the door handle and gave it a tug.

It had only opened a crack when he felt something pinch his arm and he looked down to see the Doctor withdrawing a needle from his arm.

"What did you do?" he asked as his tongue felt thick and his eyes blurred.

He opened the door, tumbled out into the hallway and staggered a few steps before his legs gave out and he sank silently to the floor. He stared up at the ceiling, unable to move or speak, and saw the Doctor's face appear over his, nose dripping and bloody.

"Now you have to calm down," he said.

Sheppard tried to forced emotion into his face, into his eyes, but he could feel his own lack of response. He could only blink and be completely inert.

Other hands arrived to move him back to his bed and again the voices drifted over his head.

"_We're going to need a permanent solution."_

"_He's too violent."_

"_Ex Soldiers are the most screwed up and the most difficult to control."_

"_He needs to wake up and see the real world for what it is."_

He was left on the bed, the Doctors walked away, and he slipped into the dark oblivion of forced sedation.

THE END


End file.
